


romantics

by LightningInABottle



Series: BLUE LIPS [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Forgiveness, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Recovery, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 04:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningInABottle/pseuds/LightningInABottle
Summary: Months apart should have hardened his resolve, but Thomas finds Alexander as addictive as ever. The problem is that Alexander has found things other than just Thomas to get addicted to, and he’s far worse off than he had been when Thomas had left him behind.This time, enough is enough. Thomas gets the help that was needed all along; not just for Alexander, but for himself, too.Perhaps, this time, they could be something real, something romantic.





	romantics

**Author's Note:**

> For enhanced reading experience, listen to romantics by Tove Lo!  
> (Also this fic might be confusing without the context from the previous works in the series)

Really, Thomas shouldn’t have been in this part of town to begin with. Just like he shouldn’t have been thinking of Alexander like he had been for the past months he spent in Virginia, weathering not only Thanksgiving, but Christmas as well with a perfect disguise of straightness. But his car had broken down so he was walking, and his mind had also seemingly broken down because every single one of his thoughts was just the image of Alexander projected on the back of Thomas’s eyelids. How he snarked and moaned and laughed and cried. Cried out to Thomas ‘ _don’t leave me,’_ while simultaneously trying to force him to watch Alexander self-destruct.

Thomas knew, or maybe _hoped,_ that if he had stayed that night, he and Alexander could have been romantics for life. But the smaller, more truthful part of him also knew that if they did, then they would go on like they had before, wild with their scars unhealed. They would continue chewing edibles and smoking weed and drinking cheap beer right before a fuck. Thomas wouldn’t come out and Alexander would always carry that strange, grieving guilt with him. Maybe it was better this way, to break away quickly but painfully, healing over time and distance. But thoughts of what _could have been_ still haunted Thomas.

So as he walked through a New York street known for its shady drug deals and strip clubs, trying his best not to get mugged before he could make it back to his apartment, Thomas thought unwillingly of Alexander. Alone, with no chance of ever seeing Alexander again, Thomas finally let the feelings he had been trying to suppress go. _We could be romantics for life,_ he murmured wistfully under his breath. Their relationship could’ve been amazing, like how drugs made them feel, but even better. _Unreal._  
It really shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise then, when Thomas was a long way from home, walking down a rapidly dimming evening street, and a guy caught his sight. A guy who just so happened to have those familiar dark, almond eyes and messy hair that Thomas had grown to hate, then love, then miss. _Alexander Hamilton._ He was walking across the road, parallel to where Thomas was, with a storm cloud above his head and eyes flashing like lightning. Alexander looked as dangerously attractive as ever, and Thomas had managed to convince himself that this was all a weird dream or hallucination.

But Alexander’s hair looked like the sun, especially bathed in the streetlights, and when he turned his head to look directly at Thomas, butterflies starting rising in Thomas’s stomach, all the way up to his lungs and throat, cutting off any words he might’ve said. This was all real, especially the way Alexander waved—fucking _waved,_ like nothing had happened and they were still good friends or enemies-with-benefits or whatever they were before Thomas had to go and mess it up with his _feelings._

Alexander ran across the asphalt in order to get to where Thomas had stopped, dumbfounded. Something about the excitable grin on his face set off warning bells while simultaneously reminding Thomas of a dream he had, back when he was with his family in Virginia for the holidays. It was of him and Alexander, standing in a field with knee-high grass swaying around them. Thomas smiled, took a step forward, which Alexander mimicked. And then, out of nowhere, a match fell from Alexander’s fingers and lit the entire field on fire.

Thomas was shaken out of his thoughts when Alexander came to a stop in front of him, lips turned upwards and pupils wide. Gone was the desperate man who begged Thomas not to leave him, the one who Thomas thought would never want to speak to him again. Had Alexander forgiven him? What had happened during the time Thomas had been gone? What did he miss? Alexander didn’t seem to notice Thomas’s confusion, instead leaning in to speak.

“Tell me, do you have the lighter that I gave you?”

Thomas blinked once, then twice, then fumbled through his jacket pocket, his raggedly-bitten nails catching unpleasantly on the lining until his fingers found the lighter. It had been left at Thomas’s house after he and Alexander hooked up for the first time. When he had gotten around to returning it, Alexander had just shrugged and told him to keep it.

Thomas extended his hand, holding out that very same lighter. Alexander took a joint of weed—Thomas had begun to think Alexander always carried some with him—and nodded his head. After making sure that he wasn’t in danger of burning Alexander’s eyebrows off, Thomas lit the joint for him, vividly reminded of when Alexander did the same for him. Were their lives just doomed to repeat in this cycle of fighting and fucking and drugs? Thomas knew he needed to walk away now, while he still could, while Alexander was being nice.

“Thanks,” Alexander said, exhaling a puff of smoke and offering Thomas a joint as well. He took it cautiously, still not understanding Alexander’s behavior. “Just thought we could smoke a little something. Like before.” With every passing minute, spent in strange peace, Thomas’s doubt subsided even more. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

“Hey…” Thomas began, tilting his head to the side only to discover that Alexander was already looking at him. _Stupid,_ he chastised himself, _he doesn’t want you._ Alexander had made that perfectly clear, that night in the parking lot. “I’m sorry about what happened, with everything.” He struggled for words, not knowing how to speak his swirling thoughts. But Alexander cut him off with words of his own.

“I’ve been thinking about that, while you were gone. I don't wanna feel regret.” Alexander spoke with a passionate conviction Thomas hadn’t heard in a while, “Just imagine.” Thomas frowned, trying to puzzle out this evening. All he could do was echo back Alexander’s words.

“Imagine?”

Alexander simply smiled wistfully, his mind drifting away from the gritty street like a stray piece of dandelion fluff in the wind. Thomas held his breath, waiting patiently for Alexander to reveal what he was thinking of, what he wanted Thomas to think of as well. When Alexander spoke, it was with a voice barely more than a hopeful murmur. What had changed enough to turn him from a cynical hot mess into this? However, all thoughts flew from Thomas’s mind as soon as he could comprehend what Alexander was saying, the same exact thing he had thought about all that time in Virginia.

“We could be romantics for life.” Alexander tilted his head up, not to look at Thomas, but to stare at the smoke drifting from between their fingers and twirling through the darkening sky. “Go wild with our scars unhealed.” They were both aware that they could go on like this, never quite forgiving each other, but trying to patch over the wounds they inflicted. But Thomas also knew that ignoring their problems wouldn’t help anything. But _fuck_ did he want to go back to the beginning, where it was just drugs and sex.

“We could be romantics for life,” he said, sounding like a promise. A small sliver of _maybe_ had begun to take root in his heart, blossoming into a full-fledged possible reality. “Like drugs make us feel…” Thomas didn’t even have to finish the sentence because sometime during his slow, thoughtful drawl, Alexander had dropped his joint on the cracked pavement and Thomas’s own was soon to follow and then they were _kissing._

Alexander’s lips still felt as chapped and tasted as bitter as before, although now there was a new undercurrent of something like desperation. Although Thomas had begun to suspect, or maybe delude himself, that the desperation was less for physical contact and more for emotional kindness. Either way, he slipped past Thomas’s defenses too easily, like their weeks apart meant nothing. But as much as Thomas wanted to deepen the kiss, a strange scent caught on his conscious.

 _Floral,_ he thought, _and spicy._ Anyone else might have thought it was incense, but Thomas was far too accustomed to that smell from high school, back when one of his friends had taken the stoner label too far. As Alexander’s urgent, wandering hands looped two fingers through Thomas’s belt loops to pull him closer, something in his brain slotted into place. The explanation for Alexander’s strange behavior sent Thomas’s heart sinking and blood running cold. What the _fuck_ had Alexander done?

“Alexander,” Thomas said, deceptively slow as he forcibly pulled away. The chill had spread from his veins to his back, making shivers run across his skin in goosebumps of horror. He made his voice as nonchalant as possible but was unable to hide the steely resolve in his eyes. “What are you on right now?”

“Uh—” Alexander stuttered, tripping over his words as he tried to take a step back. He brought the back of his hand up and wiped his knuckles over his nose, an almost instinctual reaction. That, combined with the fact that he still wasn’t able to form coherent sentences, too shocked at Thomas’s confrontation, told Thomas all he needed to know. _Of course._ He wanted to kick himself. _Of course._ Why else would Alexander be in this neighborhood, acting too friendly, too forgiving?

_—we could be romantics—_

But they _couldn’t be,_ because people say weird shit when they’re high off their asses, and Alexander was no exception. Thomas felt sick to his stomach for leaving Alexander so unstable, for not realizing sooner, for believing, if only for a moment, that they could ever have a romantic relationship. That was the thought that made Thomas snap after a minute of pure, astounded silence, knowing that his feelings had been for nothing.

“What the actual _fuck_ is your problem, dipshit?” Thomas cursed, his voice becoming increasingly louder the more his anger and fear fed off each other. His heart raced in his chest, and Thomas was aware he probably looked terrifying right now, all righteous fury and snarls. “How _dare you_ throw your life away? _Cocaine, really?_ That’s the shit you get hooked on, Alex, you _dumb fuck.”_ The last words of Thomas’s yelling were abruptly choked off when his throat seized up, prickling with the start of tears. Alexander still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Thomas.” Something in his voice made even more dull rage flare up in Thomas’s stomach.

“Fucking _try me,_ ” he hissed through gritted teeth. Thomas still couldn’t believe that he _caught actual feelings_ for this dumbass. Alexander finally looked at him head-on, something like determination punctured with pain in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice trembled.

“You left me. _Alone._ Standing in the middle of a parking lot at a seedy nightclub. And then I went after a while, and Eliza left me. _Alone._ Standing in a pitch black stairwell. Granted, I deserved it, but whatever. For two _goddamn_ months you’re gone, blocked me, left. _Why?_ Did you decide I wasn’t good enough? That I was too fucked-up for _Therapist Tommy_ to deal with?” Alexander’s jaw clenched tightly and he squeezed his eyes shut, an expression of pure agony tearing across his face.

Thomas’s heart froze up and dropped to his gut. He opened his mouth to say something but found that no words came out. Guilt crept up on him, shockingly powerful, stealing the air from his lungs. It was truly indescribable, how with just his words, words spoken while on drugs, Alexander had once again torn apart Thomas’s guard, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. And everything was so much worse because Thomas _knew_ Alexander was unstable, knew his relationship with Eliza was just another ticking time bomb. But he left anyway.

 _I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say. _I’m sorry I left you, but I just thought that maybe being away from me would save you in the end. After all,_ Thomas admitted to himself, _fucking your archnemesis couldn’t have been good for your mental health._ But they really weren’t enemies, not since that night that started this whole mess. If only Thomas could’ve realized that sooner, understood that his presence was keeping Alexander together and not pulling him apart. He wished he could say all of that, apologize, take Alexander back into his arms and never let go.

But he couldn’t, because not only did he leave Alexander when he needed Thomas most, but Alexander didn’t care for Thomas in the same way. No, feelings and dependency were two different things, and they had found themselves caught in the middle of a web of it. So instead of speaking his mind, Thomas tugged Alexander closer and began to lead them down the street.

“I’ll take you home,” he murmured to Alexander when he tried to wriggle away. “Don’t worry.”

So Alexander didn’t struggle in the slightest, slumping against Thomas like a deadweight, his outburst making him eerily quiet, almost subdued. Although his anger had vanished, Alexander didn’t make a sound or react in any way to Thomas, just following him to his apartment. Thomas supposed it was for the best. They could discuss everything later, when Alexander was hopefully better and not high as fuck. Maybe then all of his feelings wouldn’t be so goddamn _complicated._

When the door to his apartment creaked open, Thomas let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how much he missed New York until now, faced with the slightly-dusty but still clean living room. Alexander must’ve had the cocaine in his system for about an hour, because as soon as the door closed behind them, he barely acknowledged Thomas, walking over to his couch on shaky legs and collapsing onto it.

Thomas did a valiant job of pretending that it didn’t bother him, how all of their problems and fights and issues were going unresolved. But it was impossible to ignore how his _fucking stupid_ heart kept trying to reach out to Alexander, even when the man himself had made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Thomas. So as Alexander fell into a fitful sleep on his couch, Thomas pulled his phone out and called a nearby clinic.

“Hello, my name is Thomas Jefferson, and I was wondering if I could schedule an appointment. No—not for me….”

Thomas did what he should have done months ago, instead of fueling Alexander’s impulsivity. But after the time was scheduled and Alexander remained passed out, limbs jerking and head tossing from side to side, Thomas could do nothing but sit down on the armrest and wait. Wait and ponder.

People at work talked a lot, didn’t they? About their lives. Whispers had begun to crop up about why he and Alexander had been sneaking around together, the sudden reignited rivalry between them. Thomas despised being the subject of gossip, especially where Alexander was concerned. If Alexander actually liked Thomas— _which he didn’t—_ and they could actually start something more than a fuck buddy arrangement— _which they wouldn’t—_ then the muttered rumors would only continue to increase.

“They talk a lot, don't they?” Thomas said to empty air, not expecting a response. But a sleepy croak came from the other side of the couch, where Alexander’s slumped figure was vaguely illuminated in the dim light.

“Why?” Alexander’s hair was mussed, his eyes narrowed in a squinty glare. Thomas leaped up from his perch in order to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, the tile cold underneath his bare feet. He passed it to Alexander, who took long, greedy gulps.

“Are you tired?” Thomas asked, watching as Alexander fell back, pointedly turning away from him. “You should sleep,” he whispered, trying to smooth over the pang in his heart at being ignored. After Alexander’s grumbling faded away, Thomas leaned forward to press his palm against Alexander’s forehead, sending up a prayer to the heavens that he wouldn’t lose his arm for the movement. Alexander remained still, a fever burning beneath his skin.

Thomas swallowed hard before slipping onto the carpeted floor and propping himself back against the couch. He would stay with Alexander, whether he was wanted or not. It was nobody’s business, who he loved. It didn’t matter if being with Alexander was like drinking—both destructive and kind, filling Thomas up with so many complicated emotions.

His emotions only became more complicated the day that he finally dragged Alexander into the clinic, an awkward tension hanging between them. When the doctor came, Thomas held Alexander down in his seat with a patient tenderness; he soothed him until every blood test and every shot was more of a distant memory than it was anything else.

Afterward, the doctor drew Thomas aside to tell him about the _options._ Thomas had refused to go, standing stubbornly in place and stating that whatever the doctor had to say, he could say it to both of them. He didn’t miss the grateful look Alexander flashed him, and a ghost of a smile fluttered at his lips. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was a start.

“Tell me, Mr. Hamilton,” the doctor began. “Do you think you know what you need?”

“What I _need_ is for the two of you to leave me the fuck alone,” he hissed, averting his eyes. Thomas took a cautious step forward, placing a hand over Alexander’s. If this was going to work, Alexander had to trust him.

“I know your head makes you lie,” Thomas said, trying not to overstep any more boundaries. “Maybe this is the only way for you to get better.” The second Alexander looked at him, with wide, brown eyes, Thomas knew he was in so deep. But he couldn’t pursue anything while Alexander was still like this.

_—cause we could be romantics for life—go wild with our scars unhealed—_

“You have a very devoted partner, Mr. Hamilton. I hope you know that.” The doctor smiled, and Alexander opened his mouth to respond at the same time as Thomas.

“Actually he’s not—” Thomas began, unsure of how to proceed, but was cut off by Alexander.

“I know.” Alexander turned to smile at Thomas, maybe the first genuine smile in two months. And if Thomas’s heart decided to perform an impromptu gymnastics routine at the two simple words that changed everything, nobody needed to know. But maybe there was a chance after all.

— _we could be romantics for life—like drugs make us feel unreal—_

In the end, Alexander stayed in intensive care for 30 days, most of which Thomas spent tracking down his shitty roommates, collecting his things, and anxiously waiting for his checkpoint. James tried to keep Thomas’s nerves at bay, with only moderate amounts of success. But when the call came, telling Thomas that Alexander was cleared to go home, all of the bottled up emotions came pouring out.

 _—_ _we could be—we could be real—_

Alexander looked so different when Thomas saw him in the waiting area of the clinic. Somehow fresher, less cynical, more self-possessed. Maybe that was just wishful thinking talking. But no matter the cause of the change, all thoughts were knocked from Thomas’s mind when Alexander ran forward and threw his arms around him, tugging Thomas as close as possible.

_—we could be—real—_

And then they were kissing, right in the middle of the room, lips pressed together with the kind of fervent desperation that was usually only seen in movies. They clung onto each other, teeth clacking messily. Thomas never wanted to let Alexander go. He could only hope that the feeling was mutual.

_—we could be real—_

Alexander pulled away to look Thomas right in the eyes, his expression nothing short of serious. Thomas’s breath caught in his throat, and he ran his fingers gently alongside Alexander’s jaw, cupping his face with one hand and holding him by the waist. And then he whispered four words, a _maybe_ that had the potential to change everything.

_—we could be real—_

“We could be romantics,” he said, and Thomas kissed him again just for the fun of it, relishing the slide of Alexander’s mouth against his own, the minty breath that made his lips buzz. Alexander was here. After so long spend pining and fighting and fucking, Alexander was finally in Thomas’s arms, where he belonged.

_—drugs make us feel—drugs make us feel unreal—_

But Alexander was better, or getting there, at least. But Thomas didn’t need highs to feel good anymore. But _they_ were finally real, and that was all that mattered.

_They were finally romantics._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!! With more angst!! But things are getting moderately better. Thomas and Alexander still have a long way to go as far as feelings, but they're getting there.  
> Honestly I love swanofthelake so much and appreciate all the help and support she has given me <3  
> Thank you so much for reading and don't forget to comment what you thought!


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